Knight Moves
by Cypher-SB
Summary: The choices one makes helps shape one's future. But what if one has those choices made by another? - Regular updates are not guaranteed.
1. Chapter 1 : Knight

Chapter 1 : Knight (updated 2013/07/02)

He was at his center, the focal point of his meditative focus. What happened beyond his simple room did not matter. His past did not matter. Everything outside did not exist unless he was needed.

He was glad when he was not needed. There was a deep anger that filled him. A desire to kill anyone and anything that stood in his way. All he knew was anger, a cold and murderous rage that filled him every waking moment.

And awake he was. An unusual mix of magic and engineered tissue implanted in his brain let him go on an hour of sleep every other day with ease. He knew the passage of time, but anything beyond the hour or day of the week was meaningless. An implanted cyberdeck gave him this information, and reminded him of things that were not important when his mind drifted, speaking to him directly into his thoughts in a cold and artificial voice.

One of the few things that mattered was his meditation, and it was one of the few things that kept his anger at bay besides killing.

His room was very austere, and there was next to nothing that he really needed, or so he was told. There was little for him to do. When he was not needed he would usually meditate. At regular hours he would work out, keeping himself in shape.

Knight glanced up at the door to his small room. It was plain, like the walls of his room, but had only one rather large blemish. It was a burn mark from an intense fire that he himself had created one day when an impetuous troll had thought he could order Knight around.

The troll had busted into Knight's room and broken his meditation, and the smaller Knight had a nasty surprise for the upstart. Others who had worked with or seen Knight fight were well aware of Knight's magical potential.

Knight had bodily thrown, broken one of the troll's horns with a palm strike, and burned his face with a fire spell before the troll had managed to escape. The burn mark on the door, and a similar one on the wall behind Knight, were reminders that Knight was capable of magically conjuring intense flames, among a few other spells.

"_You have work, White Knight. Go._" the cold, artificial voice said.

It had only been hours ago that Knight had work. Sometimes he killed for the sport of others, like he had done earlier. The arena he killed in was stained red and brown from years of bloodshed, dried blood, and death.

All combatants in the arena had a variety of weapons to choose from, though the voice often told which one Knight was to use. All Knight knew about this was that the more viciously and brutally he killed, the more it pleased the King, and King had a variety of weapons for Knight to use. At least that was what the cold, artificial voice told him.

Knight had long since cleaned himself and his clothing and armor of the arena. It was something that he had to do, and the cold voice said how pleased it was by how well Knight did this himself. Knight preferred it more because it meant fewer people would interrupt his meditation or his practice.

Without question he broke his meditation and slowly stood. His legs were partially cybernetic, replaced from just above the knee and down. So good had the surgery been that he felt no discomfort where flesh met metal. At times he even forgot his legs had such replacements. The cold voice always told him it was not important to think about such things.

Silently he walked from his room, following the direction of an augmented reality object that would lead him. This one was a map that indicated where he needed to go. To resist the cold voice was to court undesirable things, uncomfortable things. It was hard to describe, and while the cold voice failed to help provide any words it was keen on reminding Knight about these things.

The mansion that his room was in was ostentatiously decorated. Immaculate white walls, gold trim, and the air that circulated was run through filters to ensure no outside pollution could get in. It was more than a small fortune that had been spent on this place.

Regardless of the hour there were always people about, each with a white ARO around their heads like a halo, identifying them as non-hostile. Unlike Knight, everyone else was Aztlaners. Knight's Caucasian skin, blue eyes (which were cybernetic replacements), and bald head were a striking contrast to everyone else's swarthy complexions and black hair.

Knight was content to navigate his way around the people to move with the flow when it was especially crowded, but most that at least knew of him were quick to keep clear. He was not hard to miss, standing well over two and a quarter meters tall. Especially the troll with the broken horn, whose face still bore the burn scars of his brush with Knight. His left horn was still broken, and as far as Knight knew it would never be repaired.

The parlor, when he got there, only exemplified the wealth spent on this mansion. The artwork that hung on the walls was real, the statues were of real marble, and the furniture made with real wood.

There Knight waited until another man entered the parlor. Immediately in his field of view a white ARO appeared. This human, named Bishop according to the ARO, was an Aztlaner, had several cybernetic implants, and though he was human was a good fifty centimeters shorter than Knight. He wore no obvious armor and carried an AK-97 assault rifle. Bishop was also a more rotund man, especially compared to Knight's more lean-and-mean build.

"«Let's go, Knight.»" Bishop said, speaking Aztlaner Spanish.

Knight followed without word or question. Bishop was not in his way.

They left the mansion, traveling by foot. The air was polluted, so both wore respirator masks to breathe. Bishop muttered something, and the cold voice told Knight to ignore it.

The sun had set less than an hour ago, and the sunlight was quickly fading. It mattered not for either of them. Knight' cybernetic eyes had extra features that allowed him to see very well in the dark. Even now, with almost no moonlight Knight could see as clearly as if the sun were high in the sky. The cold voice told him not to worry about Bishop's ability to see.

Bishop said little as they went. For Knight, this was how things were when someone or a group had to be hunted down.

But it was not always Bishop whom he traveled with. Sometimes the name of his companion was Rook. Then again, names were useless as Bishop was not always the same person, nor was Rook.

And yes, there was sometimes Queen as well. Traveling with Queen was rare, but was always one of two different women.

There was also the King. The cold voice told him this person was a man, but he had never seen King. He was told his orders came from King, and that King's word was law.

Knight remembered a game called chess where there were pieces with these names. Whenever he thought of this, the cold voice would always reprimand him about it, repeatedly saying that this was not necessary. Only his duty to King was what mattered, or so the cold voice always reminded him.

This Bishop was not like Knight. It was also not the first time he had a mission with this Bishop, either. This one liked to talk sometimes. Usually it was about their work and the fools that they had to chase down. It never ended well for their prey. Most of the time he ignored what Bishop had to say unless the cold voice said it was important.

And this Bishop was out of shape compared to Knight. After several kilometers of travel Bishop was panting heavily, but Knight was not even feeling winded in the least. This Bishop sometimes referred to him as "Blanco Diablo", or "White Devil," for Knight's apparent ability to go on forever.

They reached one of several streams that cut through the King's territory. Bishop signaled to approach slowly and carefully. Knight did just that, using a crop of trees to help hide his tall body amongst the shadows, keeping himself downwind of the other two.

It appeared they had caught up to their prey as they had stopped to rest by the stream. Without something to check the water it might not have been safe to drink, and their prey seemed to know this. The water was clean as far as Knight could smell.

The two were not Aztlaner in the least, but Caucasian. There were no definitive markings on their clothing, but the language they spoke suggested they were from the United Canadian and American States. It sounded familiar to Knight, but the cold voice said it was not important. Still, something about their words nagged at him.

In Knight's view appeared two orange AROs to mark his prey. Extra information, processed by the cyberdeck implanted in his back, identified a few knives on them, and that the taller of the two was injured in his left leg. They both wore dark body suits and masks like cat burglars.

"«Halt!»" Bishop yelled, jumping out from behind the cover of some struggling shrubbery. "«Hands up!»"

"Shit." muttered the tall one. He probably would have stood at about a meter-ninety if he could stand up straight. He turned to face Bishop.

The other was maybe a meter and a half tall, tagged as female, human, and apparently uninjured. She said nothing as she too turned around. In her right hand was a blade, a short Cougar Fineblade according to the cyberdeck's processing of the weapon. The way she held the blade suggested she had a little familiarity in how to use such a weapon. This was something that did not concern Knight at all.

Bishop gestured with his AK-97 that the two should raise their hands. They did.

"«You stole something tonight.»" Bishop said, "«If you give it back to us we might let you live.»"

Knight did not need the cyberdeck to tell him that Bishop was lying. No thieves left alive, regardless if any stolen property was returned. About the only difference was how mercifully the thief was killed. The cold voice told him to ignore Bishop's lie.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" the taller male asked.

Knight slowly stepped out from the shadows and around the two to get a better look at both of them.

The man noticed Knight, his brown eyes looking Knight up and down a few times. "Oh, fuck me." he muttered.

The girl, who was closer to Knight, looked quite shocked as she craned her neck to try and look him in the eye.

"«You speak Aztlaner?»" Bishop asked.

"Why the fuck can't they speak English?" the tall man asked. Knight's cyberdeck reported a good chance he was not able to speak Aztlaner Spanish. The cold voice said it was not important that he knew what this other language was called.

"«He does not.»" Knight said.

Bishop groaned. "«Fuck it. Let's just kill 'em both and search their bodies.»"

The orange AROs around their heads turned to red right away. Just as quick Knight could feel his anger growing. Like in the arena, he would either kill these two here and now or die trying.

Knight heard a zip, the telltale passing of a bullet fired from a suppressed weapon. He expected the cyberdeck to tell him from where the shot came from, but it said nothing. In fact Knight's whole world went totally white for an instant before returning to normal. He could feel himself falling to his knees, the world moving in slow motion as his whole body refused to obey his will.

There was a noise like popping corn, and maybe more. It was near impossible to tell as Knight's world vanished before his senses.


	2. Chapter 2 : Knight

Chapter 2 : Knight (posted 2013/07/03)

He groaned as he pushed himself upright. It was still night, though he had no idea what time it was. He thought he felt fine though there was a strange twinge in about the middle of his back when he moved.

Looking around he saw two dead men, one Caucasian and the other Aztlaner. At least he thought he saw them. Something about the sight seemed weird, and it was not the two dead men near him.

It looked like the Aztlaner had killed the other man. He had a ruined assault rifle in his hands while the fairer skinned man was riddled with bullet holes.

Then came the smell. Blood, sweat, urine, and offal, all mixed in a horrendous concoction that was incredibly intense and overwhelming. Without warning he felt his stomach heave, and he vomited right there.

The smell was too much for him to stand. Scrambling to his feet none too easily he made for the nearby stream and followed it for a short distance before he fell to his hands and knees again. With one hand he scooped up some water to rinse his mouth.

He noticed his hand. Then both of them. Really looked at them and paid attention to how they felt. He could feel the smoothed rocks and wet sand beneath his fingers, but something felt wrong about the sensation. The ground was cool and moist in the night hours, but that was not it.

His hands were chrome and metal, not flesh and blood. They twitched like they were his hands, his fingers moved with no special conscious effort like they should, but they just were not real.

He tore at his clothes, pulling off an armored vest and a body suit underneath it until he was half naked. What he discovered shocked him.

Both of his arms were cybernetic from just above the elbows. Smooth chrome reflected his face back at him.

Around his chest was more chrome, like an armored breastplate that was permanently attached to his body. He lightly touched his chest with a fingertip, gasping when he felt his own fingertip. Patting his chest felt like it should, both from his hand and on his chest.

Everything inside was probably fine he figured. Holding both of his hands to his chest he could feel both of his hearts beating.

Ever since Halley's Comet came near the end of 2061 he had a second heart in the right side of his chest. He suffered a heart attack in early September, something almost unheard of for someone barely sixteen years old and in very good health, and was in the hospital for a solid three months. During that time his right lung shrank while a second heart grew in its place. Other changes happened to his body during this time, like becoming able to digest a wider range of things, but a second heart was quite noticeable. He was out just in time for Christmas, and to see Ghostwalker trash the Aztlan teocalli in the Denver Front Range Free Zone.

Checking his hands he found that the back of them made a good, if slightly bent, mirror to reflect his face back to him in the pale starlight. His face was mostly his still, but a little wrong. Gone was his brown hair and pointed ears, but his eyes were his own. He felt himself with one hand, cheeks, chin, and forehead, everything except for his ears felt right. His ears felt fine besides missing their points.

He went to stand again, and as soon as he was upright he fell over again. His legs did not respond quite the way he expected them to. Removing his shoes he saw that his feet were also chrome. When he stripped off his pants and the rest of his bodysuit he saw that his legs were cybernetic from just above the knees and down. Swallowing he touched his knees. They felt like his, and he could feel his hands on them, but the sensation was still off.

More carefully this time he stood again. He felt a little shaky, having a hard time remembering even getting these implants. He had gotten a few, sure, but they were vanity things. Cosmetic types of bioware, engineered tissues to help enhance his life in little ways. Certainly not things that were as glaringly obvious as chrome plated arms and legs.

Shocked, he fell to sit at the side of the stream. The stream gently burbled as his mind raced, trying to figure out what had happened to him.

He could remember his name, Ryan Hamilton. That was a good start. He remembered graduating high school, and just after that an offer for quick money for a simple job.

The job was supposed to be simple: Look imposing for a smuggler, like he could break a troll in half. Not all that difficult since Ryan's uncle had taught him how to fight, and fight very well. With his skill with a sword he certainly felt like he could cut a troll in half, and he had been wearing a katana at his side.

Things felt fuzzy just after that. Something told him things went very wrong, but the details were elusive, like trying to catch smoke with your fingers.

Ryan pulled his bodysuit back on. When he went to put his armored vest back on he saw a hole in the back of it. It was just over a centimeter wide. The rest of it looked like it was fine, so he put it on anyway.

Looking up at the stars he could tell he was still in the northern hemisphere, but beyond that he could have been in Africa or China for all he knew.

A girl's scream cut through the night, bringing Ryan back to where he was. His ears must have been implants too, as Ryan immediately knew which direction her voice came from.

It was almost second nature as Ryan took off running. His legs obeyed him without question, taking long strides over the rough terrain.

Ryan crested three hills before he actually found the girl. At least he thought it was a girl considering how slim she was but judging by her voice. She wore a full body suit with a mask, both black in color. He could not see her eyes or hair.

With a knife in one hand and a pair of blades sticking out from her left arm she was trying to defend herself against a pair of… somethings.

The creatures were huge compared to the girl, standing on a pair of thick bird legs. They had heads that resembled owls, and very long bodies that almost looked serpentine. It was hard to tell if they had hair or feathers, both dark brown in color that almost blended in well with the night. Their beaks were blackened like they had been scorched, and Ryan soon figured why when one of them discharged electricity at the girl.

With a neat tuck and roll the girl was able to avoid getting zapped. She had to roll a second time to avoid getting a foot snipped off by the razor sharp beak of the other creature.

Ryan took off running, charging at the two overgrown roadrunners. He figured he had to at least try to do something to help her.

One of them screeched as it turned to face Ryan, sounding much like an owl as it did. Electricity crackled at its beak and Ryan was barely able to sidestep a bolt. He felt something odd, like there was more than electricity in that attack.

Spinning with the sidestep Ryan backhanded the creature. He felt its skull crack against his cybernetic hand as its head whipped back from the blow.

"Hey! Buzzard Brains!" Ryan yelled as the other creature zapped the girl. Her body twitched as she fell to the ground like a rag doll.

Everything washed out for Ryan. Gone were the owl headed creatures and the girl. He was in a small white room with bare amenities and a very large troll with tanned skin, black hair, and a broken black horn on the right side of his head. He said nothing as he lunged at the troll like he was about to deliver a palm strike.

There was something more, like he was punching through a barrier of thick mud though his arm moved without hindrance. Once he felt his hand break through there was a gout of silvery white fire erupting from the palm of his hand.

The troll took the fire to the face, yelling out in pain and fear as he slammed a door closed between them. The fire continued a moment longer, scorching a large black mark into the door.

Ryan saw the owl headed creature's beak just in time to bend backwards to avoid it. He flipped himself over backwards, lashing out with a foot and almost caught the creature on the chin. He tumbled backwards a few more times, putting distance between himself and the hopefully surprised animal.

Back on his feet Ryan saw that the creature was now looking very pissed off. It squawked as it charged him.

Imagining like he was pushing his hand through thick mud, Ryan envisioned the fire. He pushed with all of his might and when he broke through the barrier there was an eruption of silver flames.

The creature's owl head with its large eyes were lost in the flames. Once the short lived flames vanished there was a charred and blackened body.

Ryan felt sick to his stomach again, but this time it was not like he going to throw up. His whole body ached, feeling a pain he could not easily describe. It was almost like part of his soul had been ripped from him, consumed to fuel the raging silver flames. Even knowing his lower legs were metal did not stop the feeling like they were rubber. He fell to his knees, in total shock about what had just happened.

"Owe owe owe." went the girl as she pushed herself upright. "Holy fucking shit!" she cried when she saw the burnt creature.

"I know. Holy shit." Ryan panted. He was still trying to fully figure out how he did the fire. It certainly felt like he had done it many times before, like part of him knew what to do. Now he just needed to figure out how to not overdo it, again.

She looked at Ryan, grabbed her knife and shakily held it at him. A pair of blades snapped out from her left arm like Wolverine's claws.

"Fuck." Ryan said, "Now what?"

"You… You tried to kill me and Mongoose." the girl told him.

"What? When?" Ryan asked, shocked. He was already trying to figure out when he had even met this girl. And who was this mongoose?

"Seriously? Don't fuck with me."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about. We've met before?"

"You and your friend came at us. He killed Mongoose." she told him.

Was this Mongoose person one of the dead men he saw earlier? He also felt like she was leaving something out.

"Seriously. I haven't got a fraggin' clue what's happening here. I'm like… muscle for a smuggler… then…" Ryan sighed. "I don't know. I just don't know. I've got no clue where I'm at."

The girl lowered her knife. "You're serious." she said softly. The blades on her left arm retracted and she took off her mask.

_Wow, that easy?_ Ryan thought. _And fucking cute, too_.

Without the mask he could see that the girl had blue eyes and blond hair. Her hair was tied back and a little hard to tell exactly how long it was.

And she was giving him a strange look, but at least she did not look like she was going to try and kill him with her large knife. Especially when she finally got around to putting it back in its sheath at her thigh.

"So what now?" asked Ryan.

"As soon as I can stand I go meet up with my friends. You, I don't care."

"Nice." he said sardonically.

"Well what the fuck do you expect? A medal?"

"How about a 'thank you' for killing those two… whatevers?"

"Fine, thanks." she said flatly.

Ryan grunted as he stood. For a moment he forgot that his lower legs were cybernetic.

"Think you and your friends could at least help me out?" he asked the girl.

"Oh, yeah, right. You don't know where the fuck you are." She tried to stand as well, but her left leg gave out on her. She hit the ground again with a grunt.

"Right, looks like you're gonna need help getting to those friends of yours." Ryan said. He offered her a hand up.

She slapped his hand aside. Looking like she was determined to get to her feet on her own, Ryan took a step back.

Putting her weight on her right leg almost worked. She stood for maybe two or three seconds before she fell over again. This time he was right at her side to catch her, and before she could voice any complaints Ryan had literally swept her off her feet. She felt incredibly light, and he realized just how tiny she was compared to him.

"What the fuck you think you're doing?" she asked.

"Giving you a lift."

"And you know where to go?"

"I will when you tell me."

She groaned. "Fine, you win." she relented, putting an arm around his neck. "Follow the stream downstream until you reach a road."

"So, you got a name?" Ryan asked as he took off at an easy jog.

"You can call me Skye." she said softly.


	3. Chapter 3 : Skye

Chapter 3 : Skye (posted 2013/09/09)

As if her night could not get any worse. Her first run outside of Seattle and it was all fucked up. Nothing had gone right.

First had been the ride into Aztlan. The Raptor LAV had done the job well enough, but one of the engines stopped working when it came time to land. Lore had stayed behind to help get the engine fixed while the rest of them took off to their target's mansion. She had no idea who it belonged to, and frankly did not give a shit what the owner's name was.

Then there was the hike to the mansion. Most of the countless kilometers of walking through the scrubland of Aztlan was with Mongoose, and though he denied it constantly she knew he was trying to put the moves on her. It really did not help that she hated the desert. If you were going to spend hours on end with endless sand, it was supposed to be on a beach and not in the middle of nowhere.

The reports they had gotten on the place had been quite accurate, but had one major fuckup in the map data they had acquired. The map data had everything left and right reversed; where they needed to go to the west wing, it was really supposed to be the east wing instead.

Skye and Mongoose had managed to get the data planted, as per their job, but no such luck in doing it completely undetected. They had managed to get out without being spotted, or so she thought. Somewhere, somehow, Mongoose had gotten shot in the ass.

Their late night run had been slow going, slower than getting their in the first place she thought. A desert in the daytime was bad enough. A desert at night was worse. During their night run Skye had wished more than once that she were back in Seattle. Even a light acid rain would be a welcomed thing.

Stopping at a stream to rest might have been a bad idea when two men caught up to them. Mongoose had insisted on running without their commlinks on, and without it she could not access her library of linguasofts to understand Spanish.

After getting over the sheer size of the bald Caucasian man she managed a quick read of their auras. Skye had found that neither man was awakened, and the bald Caucasian had lost maybe two thirds of his aura. Even though he looked like he was dead calm, his aura was awash with rage and anger.

The other man was pure flesh and blood, his aura largely intact, and also quite pissed off but not as much as his companion.

At least another member of their team had actually done something right. Well, sort of. Instead of shooting the Aztlaner with the gun, Hawkeye shot the larger Caucasian. The man fell to his knees before falling over.

In response the Aztlaner, who had his gun trained on Mongoose, shot him. Before she could try and touch the Aztlaner with a shatter spell Hawkeye pegged him.

Mongoose was dead, there was no question of that. She grabbed his commlink and ran. She figured it might have data on it that could be used to track her and the others down.

Once she thought she was far enough away she turned her commlink on. Within seconds Lore had sent her a map of where their rendezvous was. How he managed to know she just turned it on when her 'link had a range of about a kilometer, and where he was waiting was several kilometers away, she did not know.

Just as she thought she was home free she got jumped by a pair of giant owl headed ostrich things. When she found herself lying on the ground, not knowing how she got there in the first place, she saw the man that should have been dead performed a flamethrower spell at one of the owl headed things as it charged him.

Now colored flames were not something she was surprised to see when it came to magic, but the man had been a sleeper, non-awakened, as non-magical as they came. Then there was how dark and shredded his aura had been, not just in patches like those who had limb replacements but his whole aura. The vast majority of magicians did their best to never let their own aura get so degraded. For most it would mean the death of their abilities.

And despite his implants, and whatever else might have torn at his aura, there was no other explanation. The bald man was awakened, and apparently capable of throwing around more powerful spells than she was.

They had talked, and she managed to pull off a lie detection spell on him. The spell had worked and everything he told her was true, as incredulous as everything seemed.

Then there was reading his aura, again. And again she could not see any magic in him.

Now he was actually carrying her as she gave directions on where to go. She felt embarrassed and like a small child.

When they got close to the rendezvous, she managed to convince him that she could walk on her own. Skye was far from able to make as good time as Ryan could, but at least she would not be carried in like a lost little kitten.

Lore had hidden his Prairie Cat RV next to a small grove of trees with a mess of camouflage nets to help hide it from the air. It was not a bad place, Skye thought, figuring that she could have easily missed it trying to hike back to where the coyote had landed his LAV.

"Who is that?" Lore asked as Ryan helped her in through the RV's side passenger door. The room was less family room and more of a workshop for Lore, a short dwarf with short cut black hair, and four extra mechanical arms sticking out of his back like Doc Ock's mechanical tentacles.

"His name's Ryan. He saved my life earlier." Skye said, taking the front passenger seat and spinning the chair around. She decided not to bother asking how he knew there was a stranger with her when he did not even bother to turn around from whatever work project held his attention.

"And where is Mongoose?" Lore asked.

"Dead."

"And you couldn't bother to tell me?" Lore asked with all due seriousness.

"Well excuse _me_ for having to run for my life!" cried Skye. "And on top of that he really saved my life!"

"Oh, I seriously doubt that." Lore said. He did not even bother to look at her from whatever it was that he was doing.

"Your great choice of a spot put me in the way of some big owl headed… things! They tried to eat me!"

"Uh, electrocute you, really." Ryan corrected.

"Shut it! You're not helping!"

"More likely, then, you saw an owl, shrieked, and ran away like a little girl." Lore flatly said.

"Do desert owls shoot lightning out of their beaks?" Ryan asked.

"Really?" Lore asked, sitting up from his work. It certainly did not sound like a question when he said it. "Tell me, just how big was it?"

"I don't know." Skye said.

"I wasn't asking you." Lore returned.

"I, um," stammered Ryan, apparently not expecting to be asked. "Maybe about as tall as me."

Lore spun around in his chair to look at Ryan, and had to crane his neck to try and look him in the eye. "And what did they look like?" he asked. He was apparently unphased by the human who was easily twice his size.

"They looked like a fat snake covered in feathers, with an owl's head, had a pair of chicken legs, and some funky wire thingies coming up from their beak." He stuck his index fingers at his nose to try and imitate how they looked.

"Ah, _bubovermis fulminis_. Eyekillers." Lore said, "And those aren't wires, they're feathers. But why'd they go after you?" He looked at Skye as he asked this. "You're just a tiny beak bite to them, hardly worth the effort."

"Fuck you." Skye muttered.

"I'm serious." Lore said, "_Bubovermis fulminis_ is known to attack prey as big as they are, and not bother with little stuff."

Skye huffed. She actually liked how petite she was. She knew Lore knew it upset her to be called tiny, though whether or not he was trying to piss her off was harder to tell. Sarcasm was not one of the dwarf's strong suits.

Ryan walked over to a bench seat and sat down. Then he groaned, reaching back to try and scratch his back.

"Did one of those… eyekillers get you?" Skye asked.

"No, it's something else." Ryan said. "A little twinge I've started getting. Weird since my chest's cyber." He seemed a little confused about saying it.

"Cyber?" Skye asked. His hands were cyber, that she knew since she could plainly see them. Often times she could actually distinguish the implants people had in them when she read their auras, like the various brain implants Lore had.

"Yeah, around my chest." Ryan said.

"Right, let's see what we've got." Lore said, hopping off of his chair and walking over to Ryan. "Lie down." he said, and with his real hands he pushed Ryan over to lie on his chest.

Lore's extra mechanical arms worked in a symphonic blur as they worked on Ryan's back.

"Marvelous piece of work here." Lore mused as he examined Ryan's back. "This is really beautiful. A custom job. Must've cost a fortune."

The praise did not seem to make Ryan feel any better.

"Just how much?" Skye asked.

"I don't know for certain, but several hundred thousand I'd say. Ah ha! There it is."

"You found it?" Ryan asked.

One of the tool arms whirred as it brought around a pair of pliers. Lore jabbed them into Ryan's back, and with a tug he removed something small.

"Well, well, well." Lore said as he held up the object. "Mind telling me why you brought the enemy here?"

"What're you talking about?" Skye asked nervously.

"Why'd you bring an enemy here?" Lore asked. "I know Hawkeye has his Barrett one-twenty-one and he always keeps a full magazine of armor piercing rounds for use against heavily armored things like military armor and tanks."

With his mechanical arm he held up, what looked like to Skye, a bullet.

"And before you ask, yes, I know it's from Hawkeye's rifle by the caliber and striations on the bullet. Best our opposition might have had are assault rifles."

"'Cause he's not an enemy. Not really." Skye told him.

"Mind telling me what's going on?" Ryan asked.

"Be quiet." Lore demanded.

Skye sighed. "Ryan, you and another guy were chasing me and my partner." she said, "Hawkeye's a part of our team. He was supposed to help cover our escape. Kill anyone that might have followed us."

"Your partner shot me?" Ryan asked, sounding quite surprised.

"Hmm, yes. And he really didn't do a good job, either." Lore commented.

"Sure Ryan's not just lucky?" Skye asked.

"I don't believe in foolish things like luck." Lore told her.

"Mind getting off me?" Ryan asked.

"Yes, I do mind." Lore replied.

"Well, I mind that you're still sitting on my back." Ryan said. He stood up, and much to Lore's chagrin was sent tumbling to the floor. At least Ryan helped him back up, effortlessly lifting the dwarf to his feet.

"So, just how do you know he's not just acting and here to kill us?" asked Lore.

"Truth spell." Skye said.

"Really?" Lore asked, not sounding convinced.

Skye groaned.

"You really shouldn't rely on magic to tell you when someone's lying." Lore told her.

"Uh, does he have a problem believing in magic?" Ryan asked. "It's the twenty sixties. Magic's been around over fifty years now."

"Over sixty years." Lore corrected.

"What?" Ryan asked.

"Just what year do you think it is?" Lore asked.

"Uh, well," Ryan said, looking confused, "I graduated not too long ago. Class of sixty-four."

Skye felt her heart drop.

"Well, for your information it's twenty seventy-three." Lore said.

"No, no, no." Ryan went. "I graduated like last week. I got a job for some guy to fly down to Aztlan…" His voice trailed off.

"And?" Lore asked impatiently.

"And… I don't know." Ryan sighed. "I'm in a hangar, then I'm in the desert."

Ryan looked at Skye, and all she could do was nod her head. His shoulders slumped, his mouth hanging open as it looked like he was trying to come to grips with

What could she possibly say to someone who had lost almost ten years of their life?


End file.
